ALEX-ITHYMIA
by beingxwest
Summary: ALEXITHYMIA: THE INABILITY TO EXPRESS ONE'S FEELINGS AU post-episode 1x09: Alex and Ryan need to talk about their feelings in the aftermath of the HIG interrogation OR Miranda has to tell Alex that it's the right thing to do to go see Ryan, and they have both a very serious conversation and some very serious coming-to-their-senses.
1. VERKLEMPT

**Hey guys! This is my first Quantico fic, so please let me know what you think! This is AU after 1x09, mostly because Alex and Ryan are never given an opportunity within canon to get their relationship figured out at this point. There is also the fact that, in canon, Alex had to be remanded to the custody of a prison 24 hours after she pleaded guilty (Alex and O'Conner had hatched their plan to trick the real guilty party into getting caught). So, in canon, they never would have been able to pull this off with the time that they'd had. Also: the relationship between the NATs, especially the girls, is really complex here - they were all angry, some with each other, but they all still cared about each other, which I think we didn't get enough evidence of in canon.**

 **So here is some shameless angst, followed by much more shameless fluff! Please let me know what you think!**

 ** _VERKLEMPT : completely overcome with emotion_**

It's one of the most bizarre things Miranda has ever seen, but she goes with it.

(Apparently, this is the time of bizarre - nothing in the last few days has made any sense at all, and Miranda briefly wonders why the sight in front of her would either.)

Alex Parish is not the kind of woman that you see with her arms folded on the round table in the conference room, face buried in the shelter that she's made for herself with her long hair and the positioning of her arms, shoulders shaking as she sobs. It is even stranger that she allows herself to break down like that in that particular conference room, when there are plenty others without the disadvantage of glass doors (which she currently has her back to). The only protection that this particular conference room lends her are the wood-paneled walls (this means people actually have to go up to the doors and stare directly through them at the woman falling apart on the other side of them; while one might imagine that this is a decent advantage for Alex, Miranda has watched four people do exactly that in the last ten minutes, before turning on their heels and straightening their backs, as if they are suddenly revolted by the sight and in a great hurry.)

Miranda pauses outside. Her hand rests on the handle of one of the doors, and she averts her eyes to her shoes, her nails, anything that isn't the crying woman on the other side of the glass.

She feels bad, doing what those people were doing - just standing there, staring at the woman sitting on the other side of those doors. Not going in there to ask what's wrong (there's a decent-sized list, considering everything she has been through in the last week or so - she's grieving for something: maybe for the dead, maybe for the man in the hospital, maybe for everything she's lost, maybe for everything that everyone still stands to lose) is bad enough, but standing there and staring, watching her grieve... That's almost worse, somehow. An invasion of privacy with no intention of helping or rendering aide is... It's bizarre, in a lot of ways, and even though Miranda can't pinpoint exactly what makes her angry about it, she doesn't like it.

So, before she can talk herself into waiting another thirty seconds, she throws her whole weight behind it (there's no going back once she pulls on that door handle) and yanks the door open so hard that she almost falls over.

But Miranda is a woman adept at making it look like she is together when she certainly is not (not that she has much choice - her position is fragile within this building, she knows, and with her ranking, she has no choice but to analyze every move, to ensure the perfection of every step - her position is too precarious to do anything else, indeed, and Miranda is too smart a woman to let herself fall), so she hides her near-stumble and slips into the room.

The door closes behind her, and Miranda has to catch herself from sighing when Alex doesn't even look up.

Even though they are inside the building, inside the safety of their office, Miranda has been an agent for a long time, and she (like most of the others that she works with) analyzes the safety of every room she walks into. The entrances, the exits, how dangerous it could be. And she can't help but realize that, if it had been anyone else walking into that room, anyone with the intention of hurting Alex further (she briefly pauses to wonder if a too-harsh word from a too-recently-former-friend could be enough to push her over the edge; the Alex that she trained was a firecracker, but there was a very real possibility, at this point, that she'd been through a bit too much, that she'd been pushed a little too far by the events of the last week - and Miranda wonders if, in Alex's position, she could've managed to come out any better), if anyone with the intention of getting something out of the woman crumbling before her eyes, had walked into that room instead of her... There's no telling what they may have gotten out of Alex.

Miranda knows this.

She makes sure that her high heels click as she goes towards the farthest end of the room, walking around the oval-shaped table to sit across from Alex. The _click-click-clack_ of her shoes doesn't get the other woman's attention (it is actually meant to, because Miranda doesn't want to accidentally startle her), but when Miranda pulls out the chair across from her, Alex's head snaps up.

Agent Parish is good for the job, Miranda knows - as soon as she realizes that she has been caught in such a vulnerable state, she begins blinking away tears, wiping at her face with the collar of her jacket and the heel of her hand, running fingers through her dark hair in a way that says _You caught me dozing off; is my hair a total wreck?_

It's almost as if Miranda can hear the gears clicking in her brain, see them whirling in her skull, as she calculates a response to Miranda's sudden presence.

But Miranda is in no mood for games. She doesn't feel like going back and forth with Parish, because Parish can (and will) try to talk herself out of anything. They don't have that kind of time, though. Miranda doesn't know how to tell her this, but she needs to be at the hospital with Ryan, because they need to talk it out. (By _it_ , Miranda means the fact that O'Conner and Haas let HIG torture Ryan to force Alex to confess to a whole host of crimes that, as it conveniently turned out, she didn't commit.) She knows that this is what Alex needs to do, because if she doesn't, she will regret it for the rest of her life, and Miranda has been there.

Miranda doesn't want that for Alex - at some point, the NATs that she taught began to feel more like her own children, and she's always made it her business to look out for them in the real world. Whenever the opportunity presented itself.

And while there wasn't more that she could've done for Alex a few days ago, beyond get her out and buy her enough time to clear her name, she knows that the opportunity has re-presented itself, and she has work to do.

So she gets straight to her point.

"You need to go see him," she says.

Parish just blinks at her for a few seconds. After this, though, the words seem to sink in, and Parish shakes her head. Tears are still streaming down her face, but she has stopped sobbing. "No, no, no..." She wipes at her face with both hands. "Miranda, I can't do that."

Miranda knows exactly how to deal with Parish when she gets like this - she's had plenty of experience doing it, somehow, and she knows exactly what to say (this is the first time she can say this since she helped Alex escape the Bureau's office a week before, and the circumstances are horrible, but she is somewhat relieved to see that her ability to navigate situations has returned). "Parish, this isn't about what you _can_ do, this is about what you _need_ to do. Ryan took a bullet for you, and then went through unspeakable pain - _not_ because of you, but because of a mistake on the part of _every_ agent that trained you and trained with you and _ever_ doubted you - and you owe it to each other to work things out between yourselves."

It's a little risky, even for Miranda's taste, to go at it that way with Alex, especially when she's in such a fragile state. She's got to be careful not to give Alex even one more reason to believe that any of this is her fault (it isn't, but Miranda has a sinking feeling that the only person who will be able to see this is Ryan himself, because he has a sway with her that no one else does, and because he was the one who suffered through it with her), and she has to be even more careful not to push her too far. Parish can do anything she sets her mind to, but that doesn't mean that she feels like it at the moment, and Miranda has to find a way to remind her of her own inner strength.

But she can't make Alex feel like Miranda thinks that she's hiding from her problems (which she is) or that she's making a pathetic choice (it's not necessarily a pathetic one, but she's made it out of the fear that Ryan isn't going to want to see her, isn't going to want to be near her, after everything that's happened) in hiding in the conference room and crying her eyes out.

Miranda is effectively stuck between a rock and a hard place, and, having already made her play, she allows herself to sit back and breathe as Agent Parish pulls herself together again and nods. _It worked,_ she thinks to herself. _Thank God, it worked._

"Natalie said that he was stable a few hours ago."

Alex's voice bears two things that are easily identifiable to the other woman: a tremble (one of the last remaining traces of the breakdown that Parish just pulled herself from) and a question - or, maybe, more than one question (was Agent Booth still stable, or had his condition worsened? Was there definitive word on whether or not he would be alright yet?) - that she needs answered.

Luckily for Miranda, she had anticipated this line of questioning, and (before she came to speak with Alex) she went and spoke to O'Conner, who had been the person at the Bureau receiving the most frequent updates on Booth's condition. When she replies, "He is still stable, from what I've been told.", she is being completely honest.

The young woman - Miranda's heart aches for a beat, because that is what Alex is, the more that Miranda thinks about it (she is young and deserves to live and she is young and deserves better than any of this) - across from her sighs, twisting her hands together on the table in front of her. There is no sign of the tears that just vanished, the sobbing that Miranda saw as she entered the room.

Miranda chooses to let her serious facade slip for all of a moment, and a conspiratorial smile (as much of a smile as she can manage, with as many brave people who have lost their lives in the past week) slips itself onto her face. "Booth is a fighter, Alex. He'd have to be, to deal with you."

Parish chuckles weakly (she doesn't look up from her inter-joined hands, resting flat on the table in front of her. It's not much, but Miranda will take the smile. It's not very strong, but it is a laugh nonetheless. That's another point for Miranda.

"He is a fighter. He - " She seems to choke on her words, suddenly back in the throes of her grief. "They _tortured_ him, Miranda."

Parish shakes her head, her shoulders already shaking with her silent crying once again, and looks at her lap.

On the surface, the movement doesn't seem suspicious or purposeful, but Miranda is not fooled - Parish's attempt at hiding her face doesn't go unnoticed. The way that her hair swings down to cover her face, providing a shield that doesn't allow Miranda to see as the woman across from her sobs once again, is far too obvious.

She's been trained by the FBI. Miranda knows better than to assume that anything she does is accidental or unplanned.

 _Look at her,_ Miranda snaps at herself. _Stop analyzing her like she's a suspect. She's an agent, one who has had her life ripped away from her at least three times in the last seven days, and you are going to get out of your own head long enough to send her to see the one person who can talk some sense into her._

Miranda shakes her head. There's nothing good about this situation, and the part that makes it so much worse is that it shouldn't be her sitting in this chair, sitting across from Alex, trying to help. It should be Agent Wyatt or Agent Vasquez - _no_ , Miranda thinks, shaking her head again (this movement is reckless, and she starts to wonder how much of her control she's lost in the last week - undercover, in the middle of an operation, even anywhere but the comfort of her home, she would never allow herself even that much of an expression of her thoughts), _it should be Wyatt sitting here_.

 _It should be Agent Wyatt sitting here, telling Alex to pull it together long enough to go work it out._

But it is considerably well known that the two women had a falling out after Quantico, so while Miranda has a nasty feeling that Agent Wyatt _knows_ that Alex is up here, crying her eyes out (Miranda had been sitting, staring at a wall while a deputy agent briefed the agents working in the bull pin of the third floor office with information that she'd already heard from Parish herself, when Shelby Wyatt had asked her to go find Alex and ask her a question for a report - after the incident with the we-must-record-everyone-to-catch-anyone business before, none of them wanted to talk to Alex herself - and while Miranda's pay grade is far above minor reports and questioning, especially being sent to find people for other agents, something in her had said _take the exit and go get Parish, you don't want to be in here anyway,_ so she'd taken the file from Shelby and headed upstairs after dropping that file off on her desk), it is her that is sitting in the chair that she's sitting in.

 _Better make the most of it._

Miranda leans across the table to cover Alex's hand with her own. There's nothing to say but: "I know, Alex."

Parish shakes her head furiously, and Miranda is reminded, not for the first time, of a scared but petulant child. "Miranda, they tortured him because of" - she is cut off by a sob tearing out of her throat - " _because of me_!"

"No. Do not say that. Do not say that for a second." Miranda orders her. "They tortured him because they are pathetic, tiny people who prefer to use violence to take what they want. They tortured him because they were wrong about you, and they were plenty wrong about plenty more."

Alex cocks her head to the side, tears still streaming down her face. She pauses for a solid ninety seconds, breathing in deeply and trying to contain her sobbing. This time, though, she does not bother wiping away her tears - every one of the tears running down her face is a testament to what she has been through, what she is going through, what she still has in front of her.

When she finally speaks, she is looking down at her hands, which are laying flat on the table. One of them is still covered by one of Miranda's hands. "He told me not to tell them." She shakes her head. Looks up to meet Miranda's eyes. "He was in so much pain, but he kept telling me not to tell them anything."

This does not surprise Miranda. Booth took a few bullets for Parish, even during their Quantico days (okay, fine, those were paintball bullets, but still, he took them for her). It is rather common knowledge by now that he'd do anything for her.

Even keep telling her not to tell them anything, because there was always a chance that she would say something just to make them let him go. Ryan seems to have known this. And told her not to - because he somehow had decided to take the suffering, as long as she didn't do something that would jeopardize the rest of her life, her career.

"None of this is your fault, Alex." Miranda brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face with her free hand. When Alex leaves for the hospital, Miranda will be going to bobby pin her hair back in the bathroom, because she hates when it gets in her eyes. "You need to go see him, though."

Parish's grip on her emotions sticks this time, and while she flinches back just a centimeter, she doesn't even become choked up again. Her free hand tightens around the edge of the table. "What if he doesn't want to see me?"

The look in her eyes is that of a broken woman, and this is somehow worse than the sobbing that Alex has just barely managed to contain (her breathing isn't even all the way back to normal). Miranda doesn't quite know what to do with the vulnerability the woman in front of her is displaying, and she curses Agent Wyatt (for just a moment, because she isn't entirely in the wrong - the two women really should work out their differences at some point, because they've both done their fair share of hurting each other) for not being the one to do this. For cowering behind anyone else (it's Miranda she's hiding behind at the moment) when her former best friend needs her.

(Miranda knows this is a bit selfish, considering that she is enabling Shelby by doing it for her, even as she curses the fact that Shelby chose not to do it herself.)

The truth is this: Miranda doesn't even know if Booth is awake yet. She doesn't know when he will be if he isn't already, and there's no way to guarantee, even if he is awake now or he was earlier, if he'll be sleeping when Parish gets there.

She really doesn't know for sure if Booth will want to see Alex. But she's pretty sure that he will - she trusts her instincts, and every one of them is telling her that the only person Booth will want to see is indeed the woman sitting across from her.

"Trust me, Alex. Trust _him_. He wouldn't have done any of this if he didn't care about you. So I imagine that he will want to see you." The next part is risky enough that Miranda considers closing her mouth to stifle the words, but she knows that Alex needs to hear it from her in case it _is_ indeed the reality that Alex gets to the hospital to find. "Trust yourself, too, because even if he doesn't want to see you," - Alex flinches again at this part, and Miranda knows that this is a cruel thing to say, but the world is cruel (the past week has been nothing but proof), and she would rather Alex be prepared for what she's walking into than the alternative - "you've got some pretty important things to say to him, I would imagine. Clearing the air will be good for the both of you."

To Miranda's surprise, Alex takes all of this in with a deep breath. She wipes her face with her hands again, and then the collar of her jacket, drying away the last of the tears. The corners of her mouth tilt up. "Thank you, Miranda."

The lack of argument or debate or fiery anger shocks Miranda into silence for all of thirty seconds. She isn't used to an Alex that doesn't question, doesn't push back, doesn't find a problem with something somewhere.

Miranda shakes it off as best she can. She supposes that the _normal_ Alex is the one that surprises everyone, that pushes back by doing what is least expected at any given time. Or maybe she is changing, growing again by the force of what she has faced within the last week.

Whatever the case, Miranda finds it within herself to return the small smile. She vaguely wonders when their smiles will become wider, more honest and real; how long it will take for all of them to shake off the tragedy of the attack, the lives lost; and how long it will take for their confidence in the Bureau (both the agents' confidence in themselves and the confidence of the American people in their agents) to return.

"I've already arranged for someone to take you to the hospital. The Bureau's agents are the ones with Booth, so they'll get you in. I've already cleared it with them and everything."

Parish nods again, stands up. Walks to the door. "Thank you, Miranda," she repeats without turning to face her.

"Nimah Amin is outside, and she will drive you and stay with you until you get back. Raina is downstairs working with Agent Haas, so it's fine for the two of you to be gone for a little while."

What Miranda hopes that Alex gets from this statement is this: _I don't know how long it will be before we get this worked out for the two of you, when you'll be able to sit down and have this conversation again, so please do it now. Please don't make the same mistakes that I did._

Miranda trusts Alex to gather this double-meaning on her own, and she prays to whoever is listening that Agent Parish gets the message as the other woman swings open the door.

Alex doesn't respond. She's holding the door open with her foot, and Miranda sees Alex pull Nimah into a tight hug. Miranda hears Nimah ask, "Are you ready to get going?"

Alex pulls her foot from the door, and her response is lost to the whine of the door's hinges and the rushing-rapids-roar of quiet chatter and blaring computer alerts and footsteps in the hall.

The door shuts after a moment, and Miranda steps over in front of it to watch the Agents Parish and Amin walk down the corridor towards the back parking garage, where Miranda has been assured a vehicle and two or three armed agents are waiting to escort them to the hospital.

Miranda hates how this class of agents from Quantico has been so hurt, so mistreated by the evils in this world. _But_ -

Nimah has an arm slung around Parish's shoulders.

 _They'll be alright_ , she tells herself. _Somehow, they'll all be alright._


	2. AGOWILT

_**AGOWILT : unnecessary fear**_

It turns out that the hospital is only about fifteen minutes away from the Bureau's office, which is good, because Alex is not sure that she would have the patience to make a longer drive.

When Nimah finally turns the car into a parking space on the ground floor of the parking garage (between two other FBI-issued vehicles), Alex has to grip the bottom of the seat with both hands to keep herself inside the car. She'd unbuckled as Nimah turned into the garage a few minutes before (Nimah had thrown her a look that said 'You are very eager to go see him, aren't you?', but she'd said nothing aloud, and Alex still doesn't know if she should be grateful for that as she waits for the rest of their FBI detail to check the elevator), so there is nothing stopping her (beyond the grip she has on her seat and the realization she knows that Nimah will put more of the Alex-and-Ryan puzzle together, if she hasn't already, should she make a mad dash for the stairs) from throwing herself out of the parked car and running like she's being chased until she finds her way to the hospital room where they are keeping Ryan.

The whole drive there, both her knees had bounced up and down uncontrollably, and she'd fidgeted with her jacket, with her boots, and basically anything else in her reach. Every time Nimah had even glanced in her direction, she'd snapped her gaze to whatever was out her window - she couldn't bear to see what was in the other woman's eyes. It could've been pity (she didn't want anyone's pity, and Nimah knew her well enough to know that), it could've been anger (after the decision to surveil the others, everyone was angry with her, and they had every right to be - she wouldn't hold it against Nimah if she was angry, not at all, but somehow, Alex doesn't think that Nimah is angry with her at all), but even as they wait in the parking garage, Alex isn't sure what it was.

Someone taps on Nimah's window. "We're ready to go," the man says. It isn't an agent that Alex recognizes, and her sleep-deprived brain pauses to wonder if he believes that she's innocent. "But we've got to be quick."

Nimah is already opening the car door before the man is done talking. Her purse is slung over her shoulder, and it appears that she put on more lipstick while they were waiting (Alex isn't sure how she missed Nimah reapplying her makeup - she still wears scented lip gloss that you can smell from a mile away - the one odd luxury that Nimah allows herself). Eyebrows raised, voice somehow teasing (Nimah may act extremely tough, but her humor is one of few bright spots in an extremely taxing world, and Alex has known this since their friendship bloomed at Quantico), she asks, "Are you coming?"

While her tone is aimed at being light, it leaves no room for argument. Alex nods in response. Without a word, she flips the hood of her jacket over her head (just to be safe), and grabs her own bag. Nimah watches as she does this, her hawk-like eyes missing nothing. After Alex throws the door open and climbs out of the car, the two women slam their doors shut at the same time.

The man sticks his hand out to introduce himself as they make their way towards the elevator. "I'm Greg, Greg Jacobs, but most people call me Jake."

Nimah slips her arm through Alex's. She starts walking faster, so that they are closer to the two agents at the front of their tiny procession than Greg-Jacobs-but-most-people-call-me-Jake. Alex is too wound up to think of a good line to turn him down with, but she knows that Nimah has it covered.

When they join the two agents in front of them on the elevator, and the older-looking woman (she's standing behind Alex, so Alex doesn't quite get a good look at her, but Alex remembers that she has graying hair and tan skin from when she was a guest lecturer at Quantico) that is clearly the leader of the detail advises Greg-Jacobs-but-most-people-call-me-Jake and his partner to take the stairs and meet them in the hospital, Nimah throws her head back and laughs. "This is Agent Parish, and we're taking her to see her boyfriend."

The word 'boyfriend' rips through Alex. (The word 'agent' does, too, because Nimah uses it so casually, but Alex knows that it's the only lending of support that she'll be getting from her - Nimah doesn't do outward expression, but both of them know that Alex is no longer an FBI agent. The fact that Nimah bothers with it at all sends a wave of gratitude through her that nearly sends her to her knees - she knows its significance, knows what Nimah is telling her, and if she wouldn't get her nose broken for the trouble, she would throw her arms around her friend. Her friend, who is still her friend, even after everything that's happened in the last week.)

Jacobs actually has the nerve to keep talking, much to the amusement of the woman standing behind Alex, and the chagrin of Jacobs' partner. "What about you, then?"

"I'm not interested."

The elevator doors glide shut between them and Greg-Jacobs-but-most-people-call-me-Jake and his partner, who wastes no time turning and glaring at Jacobs, and Alex briefly hopes that that's the last she'll see of them for a good, long while.

-/-

The rest of the journey to find Ryan's hospital room (which is in a back section of the floor, secluded from the rest of the hospital staff and patients, and so full of armed FBI agents that, after her time on the run and terrified for her life, has her half-hiding behind Nimah, even though she would never admit to it) is filled with nothing short of a weird silence that isn't quite awkward, but tells Alex that Nimah indeed knows exactly why she needs to see Ryan, weird looks from the FBI agents escorting them, and even stranger looks from the agents inside that back area where Ryan is supposed to be.

The closer they get, it feels like a magnet is drawing her forward. If she were to blow past the detail and try to find him on her own, she knows good and well that she never would be able to find her way around. She realizes that, more than likely, she would only succeed in getting herself lost and confused. And found by someone who still believes her to be guilty, with her luck. But still, she wants to go faster. Her whole body feels like she's being shoved forward by some unseen force, and she only wants the two agents in front of them to go _faster._ She's terrified that Ryan won't want to see her, but also that she won't know what to do, and yet she only wants to get it over with.

Might as well rip off the band aid, right?

Once they get into the wing where Ryan is (it simply must be an FBI-personnel-only wing, because of the path they have to take to get there), and then go through some sort of weird secret entrance that is only accessible through a janitor's closet (which so badly smells of cleaning chemicals that it makes Alex dizzy, though there's always the possibility that the dizziness is being caused by the reality of the situation sinking in), she is hit by a wave of fear that has every muscle in her body clenching up.

What if he really doesn't want to see her, after everything that has happened? (She wouldn't blame him - she's having trouble dealing with herself, with everything she's done.) What if she can't find the words to tell him how sorry she is? (That would not be the most shocking thing to have happened in the last few days, though that doesn't really say much. Considering the kind of person Alex is, it would probably be the most normal thing to come out of the past few days, really.) What if he doesn't want to hear it? (She wouldn't blame him for that, either. If he didn't want to hear her out, after thinking that she'd shot him, and then getting him shot _again_... Yeah, no, she would certainly understand if he didn't want to hear it.)

Finally, they turn off the main corridor of the secluded area, and there is a wing full of hospital rooms clearly in use - Alex realizes that most of these people are probably recovering from injuries sustained at Grand Central, not bullet wounds sustained trying to help a former fugitive escape - but thanks to some greater force in the universe, she knows exactly which one of them Ryan is in.

And she stops dead in her tracks.

Her eyes locked on the door (which, conveniently, is on the complete opposite end of the hallway, giving every other person in the open space a perfect view of her figure as she stands there like a dumb-struck idiot), she barely registers the hand that Nimah puts on her shoulder, trying to steer her forward. But Alex's feet seem to have been cemented to the floor, and when Nimah gives her a particularly rough shove (it's really not that hard, honestly, but Alex is so unprepared for it that it seems like it is), she actually loses her balance and is only saved from toppling forward by Nimah's lightning fast reflexes.

The other woman pulls her back upright, and Alex hears her curse at the two FBI agents (both men, not the two from before, one of them with kinder eyes than the other's, which seem to be staring right into Alex's soul from a few feet away, had jumped forward to help at the sight of her nearly faceplanting) extending their hands to keep her from making bodily contact with the tile.

"Give her some space," Nimah snaps, her accent twisting her words up in a way that reveals her frustration. Her accent only ever thickens that way when she is upset or stressed, and Alex hasn't heard it that strong since their Quantico days and a particularly rough fight with her sister. She feels bad, in some still-functioning part of the back of her head, for all of this, for everything that's happened. (Not all of it was her fault - not even most of it, in fact - but she is still in proximity to this girl who is like a sister to her, and she feels terrible that she's obviously been through so much in the last few days. The last few months, even - there's no telling what all she has been through in trying to keep herself alive and her sister safe.)

As soon as she is back on her feet and her eyes are seeing the right way again, she recognizes the two men from the room at the New York headquarters, where she was interrogated for hours and eventually arrested for a heinous crime that she hadn't been guilty of. No wonder Nimah didn't want them in her face.

A wave of sudden emotion rips through her at the show of protectiveness. That is such a Nimah thing to do, to be protective of someone around her like that without any explanation why, and Alex is so grateful that Nimah isn't still angry with her, is trying to help her in that way of hers.

"We need to keep moving, Parish," she hisses in Alex's ear. One of her hands is fisted in the sleeve of Alex's jacket, one of her hands still flung out towards the two agents, a wordless command to keep their distance.

Alex nods. Nimah is right. They're sort of in a hurry, because they still have a criminal to find. They still have a lot of work to do, to finish clearing Alex's name and solve the mystery and finish the case. More than that, if they don't find the truly guilty party, Alex will have signed her life away to pay for something she didn't do.

So the sword is hanging over their heads, and the clock is ticking, and time is running out. And Alex is standing here, in this hospital, trying to pull herself together enough to face this obstacle.

She catches her reflection in one of the mirrors behind the nurses' station in the center of the hall. There's little that's different from her reflection in the car window on the way from the office. She yanks the hood of her jacket down, figuring that wearing it in this part of the hospital makes her look more paranoid than she should be. Her hair isn't really messy, but she runs her fingers through it a few times anyway. She can't remember the last time she felt so... unsure of herself. It's jarring in a way that she really doesn't like.

There are dark circles under her eyes, further proof of the burning-the-candle-at-both-ends that she's been doing for the last week. Her skin is lacking some of her usual color - she actually looks like a ghost of herself, somehow, and she knows that this conversation with Ryan stands a chance of turning that around. (It could also break her completely, she knows, but she's been trying really hard not to think about that.) She's been so, so worried about him. Worried about what he thinks of her, worried about how they're going to go forward with what's between them.

The image of him screaming, writhing in pain, being tortured to get information out of her - being _used against her_ in the cruelest way possible - but still telling her to say nothing, to stay quiet to protect herself, is still fresh in her memory. She doesn't know if she can see him without being back in that room, seeing him hanging from that ceiling like a rag doll - her Ryan (he's not hers, he hasn't been in a long time, and she needs to stop calling him that - Nimah should also stop referring to him as her boyfriend, though, because he hasn't really been her boyfriend in a long time, and both women know that perfectly well), the man that she loves, so giving and loving and protecting... She hates knowing that he was put through so much. Because of her. That she could do nothing to stop it.

"Are you going to keep staring at yourself or are you going to go stare at your boyfriend?"

The words, enveloped in the less-sharp twist of Nimah's accent that means she's calmed down some, are more than a question. They are a challenge, the same kind that Nimah loves to issue to push the people around her over the finish line. She's not so good at pep talks, because she's a very just-do-it-and-get-over-it kind of person, and she doesn't quite grasp how to encourage other people in the same way all the time. So the challenge is her method of choice, and Alex has to admit that it works pretty well.

At least, it works pretty well on her, because she's glaring at Nimah really hard, but her feet are moving all of the sudden. Nimah chuckles, rolls her lips together in a way that says _Gotcha! I knew that that would work!_ Alex just shakes her head and continues onward.

Soon (a little sooner than she was prepared for, if she's perfectly honest with herself), she is close enough to touch the door that stands between Ryan's room and the rest of the wing. Part of her wants to know how exactly she knew which one was his without being told - his name is written, in big, block letters ( **BOOTH, RYAN L., PATIENT I.D.: 754892-005** ) just above a number that Alex imagines is linked to his patient records, but the font is still too small for her to have made out from as far away as she'd been - but the want to see him tugs on her, and she's just about to give in and reach for the handle when she hears -

"Are you Alex?"

The voice behind her makes her jump, despite all of her FBI training. She scolds herself, ignoring the snicker she hears from where Nimah is standing a foot and a half away. She whirls to face the speaker. It's a nurse, a few inches shorter than her and confident in a way that says she's in charge of the ward. The firmness of her tone and placement of her hands on her hips leaves Alex with no room for escape or debate.

How she doesn't know if Alex is Alex (her face has been everywhere - every news channel, every newspaper, every social media account and magazine for the last seven days straight; there shouldn't be a person in the country who couldn't recognize her on sight and provide three random facts about her on the spot) is beyond her. She chooses to ignore it.

"Yeah, yeah, I am. Why?" She can't help the suspicious note that runs through her voice, doing weird things to her tone, as she realizes the woman may have an alternative motive for asking. Usually, she wouldn't (her training taught her better than that, and her instincts just know better), but she is too impatient to keep herself from asking, "Is there something I can do for you?"

The nurse shakes her head, sending her tight braid swinging. The hand that gestures to Ryan's room as she speaks is holding a clipboard that appears to be way overloaded with paper. "He's been asking for you non-stop. Every time he's awake, all he wants to know is if you'd come to visit while he was out, or if you were going to." She narrows her eyes at Alex. "It was starting to get difficult to tell him that we didn't know."

"Oh." Alex doesn't actually know what to say to that. The words come to her a second later, and before she can play them over in her head, they're spilling out of her mouth. "He... He really wanted to see me?" The note of uncertainty is in her voice again, and she hates herself for doubting this, for doubting him, for questioning what's between them - would she have wanted to see him, if their places were reversed? She knows the answer on instinct, knows that nothing could ever matter more to her, even with everything that's happened in the last week. The last few months.

The answer is yes. A million times, _yes_.

"Definitely." The nurse gives her a small smile. "Trust me, there was no one he wanted to see more." The woman's eyes flick to the ceiling as she thinks for a moment, then decides she doesn't like that. With a quirk of her mouth, she rephrases: "There was no one he wanted to see _but_ you. In fact, he kicked a couple of people out of his room because they _weren't_ you."

Alex squeezes her eyes shut. _Ryan_. That's such a _him_ thing to do. Her heart suddenly aches with the weight of worry, the weight of missing him so much. The weight of what's between them.

When she forces her eyes back open a beat later, the world is still there, all of the people chattering in low voices (many of whom are pretending not to stare at her) still surrounding them, even though she feels so different. The revelation about Ryan is freeing in a lot of ways, and she feels so different after knowing that it might actually be okay between them.

The nurse glances down at a clipboard, frowns. There's a buzz a second later, and she pulls a pager out of her pocket, her frown quickly turning into a glare. When she looks up at Alex once again, though, it's almost a tight-lipped smile. Her eyes flick between Alex and the door she stands in front of, hand extended towards the handle. "Go get your man, girl. God _knows_ he needs you."

The words warm something inside her. The nurse pivots on her heel and walks away. Alex makes eye contact with Nimah (who's face is stoic as ever, even as her eyes are bright and smiling) before carefully twisting the handle on the door, and then silently slipping inside Ryan's room.


	3. REDAMANCY

_**REDAMANCY : the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full **_

When Ryan wakes up, he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

Maybe he isn't really seeing it. Maybe he's misinterpreting what he's really seeing (his eyes are only about half open because somebody keeps leaving the stupid lights on, and they're really messing with his head because they're so stupidly bright). Maybe it's a dream. He was definitely hallucinating earlier, courtesy of whatever pain meds they've got him on and general exhaustion (he's got no idea how long he's been in the hospital, but he still somehow feels like he hasn't slept in months, which shouldn't be possible, because the only thing he's really done since they brought him there is sleep, eat, worry about Alex, and sleep some more - none of which are truly physically demanding activities if you ask him), so that's another definite possibility. He hates how little control he has over himself, the position that he's in - he's a fighter, he's strong, and he's not used to being laid up like this, wondering if he can even trust his own eyes.

He definitely doesn't think that he can, though. This one pretty much seals the deal.

If his eyes are right, then Alex is standing not eight feet away from him, leaning up against the door to his hospital room. Her back is to him, and her hands are pressed flat against the door, like she's putting most of her weight on it, and she's pressed her forehead against it, too. He's really not sure what she's doing, but he knows for sure that it's her - he would know her anywhere.

She's still wearing that green jacket. Her hood is down, allowing her dark locks to tumble almost down to her waist. She's just about standing up straight. Her shoulders aren't as tensed as he's seen them, though, and that's enough to put Ryan on edge. She's running for her life - there's no way she should be so relaxed. If she's got something to tell him, she should be over here by him, not over there wasting valuable seconds of escape time.

Because that's the other reason that she can't be real - she can't be here. No matter what he wants, the million different ways that he's imagined her walking through that door with a big smile on her face, she can't have gotten into the FBI wing of the hospital. There must be security check points at every door, guards at every station, because they're on high alert after Grand Central (and he helped organize those details before he'd realized that they'd arrested Alex, so he knows that no one is getting past them). No one trusts anyone too much right now, he can tell that much - he heard O'Conner going on about checking badges and I.D.s when the jackets used to be good enough to mark one of their own a while ago (he thinks it was the day before, but time doesn't really seem to exist with how he's been slipping in and out of consciousness, so he chooses to let it go before he gives himself a headache trying to work it out in his head) - so there's no way that Alex could've bundled herself up and snuck in with a forensics or medical group and avoided getting herself caught.

The biggest problem, though, Ryan realizes as he slowly gets his head in order is this: they've got Alex in custody, and there's literally no way that she's gotten herself out.

She's the most competent, driven, strong woman that he knows. If anyone could've gotten out, it would've been her, but still... O'Conner's got a way of scaring the shit out of the younger agents when he wants to, and the older agents would never let themselves be the one that lost Alex Parrish. So there's no way that she's gotten away, no way that she's gotten herself free and found a way to sneak into this part of the hospital to see him.

(He isn't entirely sure that she would've if she could've, really, but he chooses to ignore that.)

Ryan's mind is foggy. He knows he's seeing things, which is probably the kind of thing that he should probably share with the next nurse he sees. (One of the nurses, a no-nonsense woman named Loretta, has become a sort of ally to him - after he'd been so loopy with the pain medication they'd given him that he'd actually asked about Alex a few times (thank God that he hadn't said 'Alex Parrish', because that was the sort of thing that would've gotten back to O'Conner and really screwed things up), Loretta had promised to send any Alexes she saw his way. He may have also told her, loopy as he'd been, that that had been why he kicked O'Conner and his goons out of his hospital room - they weren't Alex, and there wasn't anyone he wanted to see more than her.) He's sure they'll want to know that, especially if it might mean he's got some leftover head trauma that they hadn't noticed before. (Normally, the thought of dealing with more doctors and more nurses and more medical _what ifs?_ would bother him, but he's so tired that his muscles don't even tense.)

He knows it's stupid. He really does. But part of him can't help but wonder if maybe she did find a way to get away.

He knows they won't listen to her - they let that guy torture him, for crying out loud, just to get her to confess for something she didn't do - and that means that (either it's happened already, or it will happen very soon) there will be a press conference announcing that they've caught her and that she'll be tried for terrorism, over one hundred counts of murder, God knows how many counts of treason, injury to fellow agents, and whatever else they can stick to her.

The memory of that torture strikes a nerve inside him, and he flinches without thinking about it. That's pretty dumb, too - he's Ryan-freaking-Booth, and with all the training he's had, all the shit he's been through, he knows that it shouldn't be getting to him the way that it is. He takes a deep, ragged breath in a weak, pathetic attempt to let go, but there it is again: that pain (it had hurt like a mother), and that fear (he'd been so scared for Alex, because everything in him wanted to take out Wells and his goons, grab her, and get out of there; but he'd also been so scared for himself: like Wells had said, he'd been pretty close to getting an infection, maybe to something worse, and that had scared him more than any guy with a gun ever had - he'd never wanted his mother, his sisters, to hear about him and Alex from anyone else, and if they heard that he'd died trying to protect her (that was the narrative that O'Conner would go with to save face, never mind how it might hurt the people that he loved not to know the truth, that he was in love with a woman that would never do something so atrocious, whether the public and the media believed or not)… He'd never wanted that for his family.)

He clenches his hands into fists. He doesn't need to be thinking about this now, he knows. But what else is he supposed to think about? _The weather?_

He forces himself to take another labored breath, to shove the image of Griffin Wells out of his mind, to shove the image of Alex's terrified face (watching her watch them torture him had made it worse, because she'd been so scared, and he'd hated to see someone so strong so terrified) out of his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut, counts to ten a few times.

When he opens his eyes, Alex is standing over him, hands reaching out but hanging in mid-air, like she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is moving, but he can't hear what she's saying.

 _She's not real, it's not real_ , he tells himself. The next voice, the one that it usually is, telling him to get his head back on straight, is his old CO - a Texas man, with an accent thicker than should've been possible, who somehow always knew when Ryan was running the risk of falling down and not getting back up. _Get it together, Booth, this ain't a good look for you._

He sees the door open (he doesn't hear it, even though he knows good and well that he should, but his brain is too foggy to wonder why) under Alex's left arm (he ignores the way that her hair is tumbling down in loose waves, ignores the way her hands are reaching for him) and sees a pair of FBI-issue boots step inside. O'Conner.

He jerks into the upright position (something hurts, he just isn't quite sure what, as he moves too quickly). He refuses to be so vulnerable in front of O'Conner if he has a choice, and while it isn't the most comfortable position, he can deal with it.

Ryan tries to shove the image of Alex away, because he knows that O'Conner is probably here to get an update on his condition (that he doesn't have, because he can barely be bothered to listen to what the nurses are saying - he's so _tired_ every time he wakes up, and he doesn't know if he can blame it on whatever they've been giving him for the pain alone - and, the first time he woke up, he gave Loretta his oldest sister's cell number and asked them to call her with updates or questions about his medical history, and then she can tell him if it's important, because she's been calling three times a day, and always manages to catch him while he's awake at least once) and to see if he has more information on Alex or her escape plan or who she was working with (that he doesn't have, because it doesn't exist). It won't look good if O'Conner figures out that Ryan is literally seeing things.

And, of all the things he could be seeing, he's seeing Alex - something O'Conner surely might see as suspicious.

"Ryan," he finally hears (and it's Alex, not O'Conner, because O'Conner is just standing there a few feet behind her, eyes flicking between Ryan and the spot where Alex is standing, even though Booth can't figure out why he's looking there, because there's really no one there), "Ryan, look at me."

Suddenly, Alex's hands are on his shoulders, and she's easing him back down to the pillow behind him. "You can't move so fast, you'll hurt yourself." Her mouth quirks to the side, and then there's a tiny ghost of a smile on her lips. "I mean, I know you have a penchant for doing dangerous things and having near-death experiences and stuff, but I would really prefer that you healed up from this one first. And tried to avoid aggravating any of these injuries of yours, or inflicting new ones, in the process."

He glares at her, just a little bit, in a way that must convey the not-wanting-to-be-in-such-a-vulnerable-position around O'Conner. She rolls her eyes, but turns and walks around the bed anyway, heading to the little storage cabinet on the other side of the room. She opens it the way one throws open curtains, and the doors swing on their hinges for a few seconds.

With a tiny "A-ha!" of victory and an even smaller smile on her face, the kind that almost reaches her eyes, she finally turns around and holds up an extra pillow. She grabs another one from the cabinet, pushes the doors closed, and crosses the distance between them.

Her hands are careful as she helps him sit up again (gingerly, this time, with the added support that she provides, keeping him from going too fast or falling back down). It doesn't hurt so much this time. He finds that he doesn't really care that O'Conner is standing there, that he's content to look at her in the dim light of the room - he knows that she's not real, she can't be, but Ryan also knows that, from now on, he'll probably only see her on TV.

There will be a trial, and she will be charged with whatever they can stick to her, and he will never see her again.

(It's truly cruel, how real she seems. It's worse that he knows it's all in his head - it doesn't really surprise him that his brain can cook up an Alex like this, no problem, but it's awful that he's going to wake up one morning, and O'Conner will tell him that charges have been filed against her, and he knows what will happen after that.)

So Ryan decides that he might as well relax and stop berating himself. He misses her, and it's really no wonder he's hallucinating - Ellie told him what kind of medicine they were giving him last night, and it's beyond strong: he's lucky he's not seeing more than the woman he's in love with. He can apologize to whatever nurse or agent his brain has turned into Alex in the morning, and he'll blame it on the pain medicine.

Once he's comfortably propped up on the pillows, and Alex has asked him if he's comfortable (and has given him a once-over that screams that she doesn't believe him at all, that she's still worried), she sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much, lest she upset one of Ryan's many injuries. She crosses her legs in front of her, and he's reminded of his nephew: _It's called criss-cross-apple-sauce, Uncle Ryan._ She situates herself in a way that she can keep one eye on Ryan, and one eye on O'Conner.

 _Great, even my hallucinations don't trust him,_ Ryan thinks to himself.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, Booth, but I agree with Parrish." O'Conner's got a shit-eating grin on his face, and Ryan hates it, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes are too busy going back and forth between the two of them, because there's no way that O'Conner is seeing things, too. (He's sure that O'Conner is really standing there, because doors don't open and close on their own, so that much is real.) "Parrish is working with us on catching the bad guys, but Miranda wanted to give the two of you a chance to, um..." O'Conner scratches the back of his neck, looking for the right word, and finally settles on: "talk. Miranda wanted to give you guys a chance to talk."

Alex grins at that. "Yes. Talk." She nods, tossing a conspiratorial glance at Ryan. "We need to talk."

O'Conner and Alex both look at Ryan expectantly. He can imagine how he looks: eyes wide (from the shock of O'Conner talking to his hallucination), skin pale (from his injuries and exhaustion), hands clenched into fists (he's not entirely sure what that's from, but it's likely a combination of the aforementioned causes), mouth opening and closing as he tries (and fails) to come up with something to say (what exactly does one say to the hallucination of the love of their life while their boss, who believes said love of one's life to be a terrorist, is in the room, and communicating with said love of one's life?). Part of him is glad that there's no mirror across from the bed (there is one on the other side of the room, but at least he can't see how stupid he must look to them).

Ryan cocks his head to the side. _What if she really_ is _here?_

Alex has to be real. O'Conner wouldn't be able to see her otherwise, and based on the way that he's been looking between the two of them, he definitely can. And the polite-nurse-that-his-brain-turned-into-Alex-courtesy-of-his-exhaustion-and-how-much-he-misses-her theory definitely allows for the way she helped him sit up, but not the way that she knew what that look meant, what to say to him. It could be his brain, compiling what he knows about Alex and his memories to make his hallucination seem real, but it's probably not. O'Conner isn't looking at him funny. And no nurse would be sitting on the foot of his bed like that.

So that's it then. She's real. It's either that or Ryan is having the weirdest dream of his life.

Ryan glances over at Alex then. His jaw drops as he really takes her in: her hood is down, allowing her hair to tumble down over her shoulders and back in waves. She's wearing that jacket that she always seems to be wearing these days. There are circles under her eyes, and she looks absolutely exhausted (being on the run took a considerable toll on him - though that may have had something to do with being shot twice in such a short amount of time - so he really doesn't even want to imagine what it must've done to her). She's wearing makeup, but it's... worn, like it's been on for a few days and she hasn't washed her face. (Ryan takes a moment to thank his sister's drill team experience for that particular bit of knowledge: it's like when his sister Ellie would leave her makeup on after a performance and still be wearing it the next morning.) Alex's hands are resting in her lap, fingers twitching, like she wants to do something with them but isn't quite sure what or how.

It's in his head like a mantra.

 _She's real. She's real. She's real._

 _She's here. She's here. She's here._

He doesn't know where it comes from, but suddenly, Ryan is _angry_ , and he's glaring at O'Conner in a way that actually makes the man take a step backward. Usually, there would be a reprimand, but the look on O'Conner's face says that he knows good and well that he deserves it. Alex whips her head around to look at him, mouth opening, probably to tell him to shut up before he says something he'll regret later. But he pushes ahead anyway. Before she can even get the words out, he's aiming a biting question at O'Conner. "So you finally got it together and realized that Alex would never do something so horrible?"

"Ryan, you really don't have to - " Her voice is quiet, assured. One of her hands rests on his arm. She twists around so that she can meet his eyes. "You - it's okay, Ryan. I was framed, and no, I'm not happy about it" - she throws O'Conner a scathing glance, but he's suddenly intently studying the wallpaper, like maybe _it_ framed Alex and murdered over one hundred people, and put plenty more in the hospital - "but you don't need to worry about that right now. I'll be okay. We'll figure out who's responsible, they'll pay for what they've done, and they won't hurt anyone ever again. It'll be okay."

A few seconds pass, and Ryan is more than content to spend them searching her eyes, her face, for any hint of untruth in her words. But, and maybe against his better judgement, considering the stunt she pulled with the helicopter (and she's still going to get an earful about _that_ particular incident), he believes her. He tries to tell himself that it has more to do with the fact that she's telling the truth than how badly he wants to believe her, and decides to ask, just to be sure.

"You promise?"

There's a smile that lights up her face, then. Her eyes are shining with tears all of the sudden, but he knows for a fact that mentioning them will just make her comfortable with O'Conner in the room, so he doesn't. He smiles back at her, and she cocks her head to the side, her smile somehow even wider. Even more dazzling.

In the most ridiculous attempt at a British accent that he's ever heard (at least, he thinks that's what she's going for), posh and a little broken up by the laugh that she's trying to hold back so she can get through her sentence, she says, "I, Alex Parrish, promise you, Ryan Booth, that we will figure this out, and it will all be okay."

On the other side of the room, the door clicks shut. At the same time, they look over to discover that O'Conner has silently snuck out of the room.

"Guess he couldn't take the sight of such happy people," Alex chuckles.

A lock of hair has fallen in her face from her laughter, and Ryan brushes it behind her ear. He doesn't have anything to say in response, just a laugh that only Alex could ever get out of him.

-/-

Twenty minutes pass, and a very young (very terrified) FBI agent walks in after knocking. Her arms are holding a box of pizza and a two-liter of Pepsi (and even some napkins, two plates, and two red solo cups), and Ryan takes a moment to thank O'Conner for whatever kindness inspired him to order them pizza. The man might have a questionable ethical system, and Ryan might have his issues with him, but the man knows how to find a good pizza place.

It doesn't take long to get right to it, though. Ryan is shoving his first piece of pizza into his mouth when Alex, clearly having decided to take her time with her food, asks, "So what are we?"

Ryan actually almost chokes on his pizza - it's such an _un-her_ thing to do that he starts to wonder if he's dreaming again. Alex doesn't start these sorts of conversations. It's usually a miracle for him to find a way to get her to sit long enough to discuss. He stops mid-chew to exclaim, "What?"

He doesn't make any sense with the amount of pizza in his mouth, but Alex knows what he means anyway. "Are we a couple? Are we friends that are in love but are not a couple? Are we not - not in love?"

He can actually see the anxiety in her eyes, in the way her shoulders have tensed up. He takes another bite of pizza, buying himself a few seconds to try and get his thoughts in order - the last thing he wants to do is freak her out by throwing everything he's feeling at her at once.

"We are," he says, reaching for his glass of Pepsi, "whatever you want us to be."

And that's the truth: if she wants him the way that he wants her, if she loves him the way that he loves her, then Ryan will quite literally be the happiest man in the world. But if she doesn't (and the thought makes his stomach turn, because sure, he can live without her, but he isn't really sure that he wants to), he'll accept that, and it'll be okay.

Well. He'll find a way to be okay. If that's what she wants.

Because he wants her to be happy, even if it isn't necessarily with him.

He finishes his drink in three big gulps. The soda burns going down. Needing something to do that isn't stare at her, because she's starting to glance around like she's feeling cagey, and that's never a good sign with her (he doesn't want her to just up and leave, or throw herself out the door just because they can't figure things out between them, which means he needs to give her some space), he closes the lid of the pizza box and sits it on the side table. The cardboard lid won't do much to keep it warm, but they're both more than okay with cold pizza.

Working things out with Alex (the slightest possibility of a happy ending with Alex) is worth eating some cold pizza.

He moves both their plates away, just to give them some more room. What he really wants is to pull her into his arms. He's missed her so much this whole time he's been in the infirmary (he really doesn't know how long it's been - for all he knows, it might've really been a few weeks since he and Alex have seen each other), wanted her there every time he's woken up, wanted to see her, hear her voice, tell her how sorry he is for everything that she's been through. How sorry he is that so many people turned their backs on her.

That quite a few people ended up sticking up for her in the end, though, when it mattered - him, and Shelby, and Simon, and Miranda (who had always believed in Alex, even from the beginning), and even Vasquez.

She stares at him for a long moment, and then does a second very unexpected thing.

"I love you, Ryan, and if that's not what you want, then I understand. I got you shot, _twice_ , and they - they _hurt_ you _because_ of me, and I'm _so_ , so sorry. If you can't forgive me for those things, or for being bad at this in general, then - then I understand, but then please just tell me to stop talking, because I don't know how to do this at all."

Ryan blinks really hard once - twice - three times. He definitely has to be dreaming, because Alex does not - she doesn't do that. Doesn't just take the leap of faith and explain how she feels.

But, on the off-chance that he's not dreaming, and this is really happening...

"C'mere," he whispers. His voice is hoarse, all of the sudden, and he's really not sure what else to say.

She does, though, and he doesn't have to say anything else, because he's threading his fingers through her hair, and then lips are on lips and he's not really sure who kissed who, but it doesn't really matter.

When they finally pull apart, though, breathing heavy and lips swollen and some of her lipstick smeared, he knows exactly what to say. "I've always loved you, Alex."

 ** _fini_**

 ** _/_**

 ** _This is the last chapter of the fic. I hope you guys enjoyed it - let me know! I might have more work for this fandom coming soon!_**


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